


Nothing

by soranokumo



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Canon - Original Game, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-20
Updated: 2004-08-20
Packaged: 2017-10-19 05:30:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/197439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soranokumo/pseuds/soranokumo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Avalanche spends a night at a roadside inn on their way to Nibelheim, Cloud's late night thinking keeps him awake. Sephiroth x Cloud. Explicit sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing

It was the time of night when Cloud knew he was the only one awake. He knew, because for the longest time he had kept track of the others, of their sleeping patterns. He knew, because of all the times he had stayed awake, listening to their breathing, sensing their eyes upon him when he moved at all during the night. Normally, they slept peacefully. Normally, they were too tired to have nightmares, to toss or turn in their sleep.

Normally, he would remain awake, and drift to sleep sometime in the early hours of the morning, only to awake a few hours later. He was always tired, and the few hours of sleep did very little to help. His body was operating on what it needed to survive; it had been doing that for so long, that even when he did feel he could sleep in peace his body could not let him.

There were some nights when neither mind or body could let him rest. There were some nights when he dreamed while he was awake, or at least he thought he dreamed; he did not think they were memories. Those nights, he was thankful for the others' sleeping so soundly. Those nights, he was thankful for any privacy he could have.

This night, he was grateful for the small, single room at the inn. He was grateful that he didn't have to worry about avoiding any eyes that might be open, any curiosity that might lead to embarrassment, to problems, to accusations... or to questions.

He only had to remain quiet enough, and he had been quiet his whole life, so that would not be difficult.

So, as Cloud lay curled on his side, staring out the window of the small inn, his mind drifting like the clouds that hid the moon... he was grateful that there was no one to hide from.

His mind drifted. He thought of the spots of dark and light that riddled his memory. He did not think of them too hard; attempting to remember what he could not only made his mind hurt. His mind drifted over them, more often than not remembering sensations, glances of pain, brushes of kindness. His thoughts lingered more closely on the incident of five years ago in Nibelheim. He thought about those days, those days that he thought he remembered more clearly than any other day in his life. He tried to ignore the fact that everything he remembered was fuzzy on the edges, every edge and shadow of the Nibelheim of five years ago that he reconstructed in his mind felt instinctively wrong.

Nibelheim. They would soon reach Nibelheim, or what was left of it, or what had become of it. One night at Cosmo Canyon, he had stood up at Bugenhagen's study and borrowed one of the old man's telescopes. He had looked North, and he had become physically ill when he saw a grouping of shadows and lights huddled at the foot of the black Nibel Mountains. Bugenhagen told him that Nibelheim had always been there, as long as he could remember.

Cloud hadn't wanted to tell Bugenhagen that Nibelheim shouldn't have been there. He hadn't known how to say it. And when he had come downstairs, he felt Tifa's eyes on him. She had known, then, as well as he did. They would arrive at Nibelheim soon.

He wondered if she was awake, if she was thinking about Nibelheim. He thought she was.

His thoughts drifted back again, just as the moon began to appear from behind the clouds. He gazed at the sliver of silver, looked at the slim razor edge that it cast through the window and onto the room's small dresser; the light seemed to cut his glass of water in half.

 _Silver. Light. Darkness. Cut._

He curled tighter. He held his breath. He could not stop the way his mind leaped, now, stringing thoughts together, faster than he wanted--

 _Cut. Blood. Masamune. Heart. Hurt. His hair. His hands. His smile. His. His his his--_

 _  
**"Mine."**   
_

He flinched, his hands covered his face, and the air hitched in his throat. The voice he heard in his head was as clear as it had always been, as sharp as it had always been. It had not changed. Unlike Nibelheim, it would never change. Not in his mind. Not in his thoughts.

 _"Sephiroth."_

But that voice, that voice changed within an hour, within a minute, within a second. It was never the same. He thought it was his own voice.

 _The spines of the books and the edges of the shelves pressed into his back, and hurt his shoulderblades. He gasped for air, as bloodied, gloved hands touched his face, caressed his face, pushed back his blond hair. He had never seen the taller man ever do anything desperately--Sephiroth was never desperate--but there was something urgent in the press of those fingers against his temple._

 _The low laugh was not warm or cold. "I'm not human, after all." And he stared at the blood on the man's pale lips, and when Sephiroth kissed him--_

Cloud shuddered, one arm wrapping around the pillow so he could bury his face against it. It smelled fresh, clean, a hint of citrus. It did not smell like blood.

His other hand twitched, before it reached beneath the thin blankets, reached between his legs, rubbing first along one cold thigh and then hooking around the waistband of his shorts. Dragging them down caused more friction; he drew in breath with a hiss.

 _\--he tasted the sharp tang of Mako and metal. One leather-clad arm reached around him, and drew him away from the bookshelves that lined the hallway. He was nothing compared to the other man, and the toes of his boots barely dragged against the rough floor as he was pulled up the hallway, toward the study at the end. When Sephiroth stopped kissing him, he tried to push away with both hands. He somehow managed to work them up between them, but his fingers slipped against the blood where the self-inflicted wound in the man's chest had already healed._

 _The fingers resting in his hair suddenly clenched, as they reached the desk in the center of the study. His head was jerked back, and he had never seen the Mako in Sephiroth's eyes glow like this before. The green reached for him, pulled at him. When he was drawn upwards into another kiss, he could not look anymore. He clenched his eyes, his fists shut, but could not close his mouth to the insistent probing._

 _He was finally pushed away, but he had nowhere to go except onto the desk. He sat on the very edge, fingers clutching the black leather, and although he kept his eyes shut, he could hear his own frightened breathing. Sephiroth had suddenly gone silent, but as one knee shoved between his legs, forcing his thighs apart, Cloud could feel the other man, could feel his hardness against him._

 _Two hands touched his face. Cloud opened his eyes, but did not look up to meet Sephiroth's gaze._

 _"Why?" The question encompassed too much. He couldn't answer. "Why didn't you run?"_

The shorts had become a bunch of fabric at the tips of his feet. Freed, he squirmed, his free hand stroking his own skin above the waist. It was all hesitation, and he knew it.

 _"Because," he breathed, and swallowed, "because I... I can't... I don't have anyplace to run to..."_

His fingers began to slide lower.

 _"That's not all."_

 _"S-Sephiroth--"_

 _"That's not all, is it? Tell me."_

 _"I can't... no place else..."_

 _"So you'd rather stay with me?" The laugh hurt him, this time, just as the hands left his face and began to pull away clothing, exposing pale, cold skin to the brittle air of the basement study. He didn't know how to answer, didn't know how to speak it. Even if Sephiroth was never desperate, Cloud was desperate. He knew what desperate meant, what desperate was. When he looked up at the green, when he risked looking up at the green, when the green caught him, he answered, desperately, the only way he knew how._

He smothered his sob with the pillow, tried to control his breathing as it became more frantic. He pulled his face away from the pillow, and looked to the window. The moon had fully emerged into a clear sky, and now everything was dusted with silver.

 _Sephiroth stared into him. It was the only time Cloud had ever known to see a hint of confusion in those eyes. Then, those eyes narrowed, and the smile that came back to those lips changed, somehow._

 _The hands pulled his pants down in one swift, efficient motion. Cloud started to shudder against the cold, but he was drawn into an embrace before he could._

 _His vision grew blurry and he gasped when he felt a hand reach between them, and grasped his length. He shut his eyes against the first tear, at the same time that Sephiroth whispered into his ear._

 _"Then, Cloud Strife... you are mine."_

He shut his eyes as his fingers brushed the head of his cock. He swallowed, ignored his own tears as his hand enfolded himself.

 _He was pushed back onto the table, and when Cloud opened his eyes, he found himself staring into Sephiroth's, again. The desk creaked; books were shoved out of the way, thudding into piles on either side of the desk while he spread his legs and Sephiroth joined him._

 _And then Cloud cried out when Sephiroth joined them together._

A whimper escaped his lips. He clutched the pillow close again, fisting himself as he remembered being thrust into. He hurt, he hurt himself, everything hurt, but he could not stop. He could not stop, even if he always arrived at the same place, even if it hurt and even if he didn't know why, couldn't remember why, even if he didn't want to admit--to himself, to anyone--how frightened he was, how terrified he was, and all because of the same bone-deep fear--

 _Please don't let me stop running please don't let me stop--_

\--that if he stopped, if he gave pause and fell too hard, he'd never get up again, and he could not let that happen, he was too afraid of what might catch up to him--

 _\--I don't want to see it, I don't want to see--_

And in his mind he was alone in an inn and he was on a desk in the Shinra Mansion's basement, and he was crying into a pillow and he was crying Sephiroth's name, and he was stroking and meeting every thrust, and everything was light, dark, light, dark, light until--

 _"Sephiroth? Cloud?! What--"_

\--everything became nothing. Nothing but a hand covered with his own come and a memory of Sephiroth with his name on his lips. Nothingness.

He pried open his eyes, flinched at the half-hidden moonlight. The silver was again partly veiled behind the clouds. He licked his lips and then licked his fingers. When he licked his palm he bit, comingled come and blood and sweat, tasted, and held his hand up to the light, watched as his flesh healed over the small wound within a minute. He even counted the seconds. He stared at his hand, until he grew tired holding it up, and let it drop to the mattress. He turned onto his other side, away from the window, away from the moonlight, away from the wetness that would stain the clean sheets.

"I'm not human, after all," he whispered. "But still..."

Cloud was grateful for the silence that met him, met his confusion, met his befuddled memories with a simple solution that his body could not accept as an answer. He wished he could sleep without dreams.

"I'm tired."


End file.
